


A Shuffle of Sorts

by spaze_cat



Category: Deltarune (Video Game), Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Confusion, Mentions of Suicide, Nihilism, Pain, Sans is Also Sad, Sans is Confusion, Suffering, Suicidal Thoughts, That Bit's Canon Tho, ambiguousness, author doesn't know what she's doing, characters will be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-25 23:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16670338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaze_cat/pseuds/spaze_cat
Summary: The Sans from UNDERTALE wakes up in DELTARUNE.





	A Shuffle of Sorts

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't know what I'm doing. I'm making shit up as I go along. I know this isn't canon-compliant; Toby's made sure to specify that the characters consistent in both games have nothing to do with each other, but as an avid writer/reader of fanfic, I cast "BULLSHIT~" and came up with this sad scenario.

At first, Sans is hesitant to believe.

He’s so used to the RESETs. They’re nothing if not consistent. He’s woken up in his bed in Snowdin countless times. _Literally_. He lost count somewhere around fifteen thousand, and they continued happening long, long after that.

He’d memorized the Script so well that he could perform it in his sleep. Even when the kid emerged from the Ruins clean of dust and free of sin, and he knew it’d be one of the better runs, he still hated the repetition.

He’d been killed hundreds of thousands of times – if not more. He and his brother and his friends had been freed hundreds of thousands of times – if not more. Only to have everything taken from them, to be forced back into the stifling despair of the underground, with only Sans himself left to remember just how much they’d lost.

Even Frisk never seemed to remember that much, though it seemed they should have. There were times when recognition showed on their face, when their reactions didn’t seem quite genuine, and they’d get confused. After a while, Sans realized that even Frisk was a slave to the Script, that it wasn’t their fault when whether they left the Ruins doors a sweet, pacifistic child or a homicidal megalomaniac.

That was his first clue, actually. Finding that Frisk was not the one responsible for the RESETs, at least not consciously, meant that someone _else_ was. An entity that probably could not be seen.

And because Sans was so good at doing things he should not be able to do, Sans taught himself to see.

What he saw was not one entity, but many. Reflections of faces on a screen, sometimes laughing at his jokes, or smiling at Papyrus’s shenanigans, or just staring blankly at them all, hardly reacting to anything. Watching them live like it was some sort of movie, or making them die using arrow keys or a controller like it was some sort of…

…video game.

When Sans had first realized that truth, he tried to kill himself for the first time.

He’d woken up back in his bed in Snowdin, and the player hadn’t even realized why their game had crashed. But Sans did. The game had to restore his character file, so that he could continue performing the Script.

So that the player could continue to play the game.

He’d seen the title, in a flash of clarity against the darkness of the void.

UNDERTALE

And he’d felt it then, like tendrils of himself being stretched across time and space, how far the game’s reach had spread. How many people had downloaded a copy. How many possible timelines he would have to live through, just to satisfy a new stranger behind the screen.

He’d killed himself a few times after that, but the game did not allow him to die. Not for long, anyways, unless the player wished it. Not unless they’d worked for it, earned it like was some kind of _privilege_ by first slaying almost every single monster in the underground.

And even after those times, he would always come back. Back to Snowdin, to perform the Script once more for the next player.

The next run.

There was no other choice, so he played along; followed the Script. His only rebellion came in the form of his puns. Of course, they, too, belonged to the Script, but the reactions they elicited weren’t always the same. Sometimes, the player was amused. Most of the time, they were not, and Sans took great satisfaction in that, even if that, too, had some degree of predictability.

It was the most infinitesimal iota of control he could grasp, and he held onto it with everything he had.

And then, one day, the RESETs began to slow.

He spent a full week on the surface with Papyrus before the next RESET. After another wave of countless repetitions, he fell once again to a possessed Frisk’s knife, and when he woke up back in Snowdin, Frisk didn’t come through the door until the second day.

But he didn’t dare hope for change. His HP was fragile enough as it is. The game might not allow him to die, but if he lost that last shred of sanity, the repercussions could be catastrophic, and not in a good way.

Perhaps death was a MERCY he could not have, but gaining hope only to lose it again would break him beyond repair.

The next RESET didn’t come for several weeks. Several RESETs after that, he managed to spend an entire month aboveground before waking up in Snowdin once more.

The fact was, they weren’t happening as often. Fewer and fewer people were playing the game.

It was far from a perfect solution, but it was better than nothing. It made him a bit of a nervous wreck to have to actually _worry_ about when the next RESET would come, as opposed to just expecting it. Sure, his progress still wouldn’t matter in the end, because the next RESET would always come. But each time it got just a bit more tolerable.

He had more time in between them to spend with Papyrus, to watch Frisk grow, to find new jokes to share with Tori, and to live. To live past the credits, past the end screen, to live in a world that was unprogrammed, unscripted, untouched by the player, even if it was just for a little while, before it would all go back to the beginning.

It's as close as Sans believes he can get to a happy ending.

So when he wakes up in a bed that is decidedly neither underground in Snowdin, nor his house with Papyrus aboveground, he has no idea how to react.

He simply lies there, for a start. Very, very afraid to move, worried this difference, this glitch, this _nonsense_ , will be detected by UNDERTALE, and will be resolved with a forced crash and mandatory RESET.

For several minutes, nothing happens.

Sans breathes. And very, very slowly, takes in his surroundings.

It’s a pretty standard bedroom; it looks like somewhere he’d sleep. But things are just a little different, here. For example, the computer in the corner, the _actual_ _bookshelf_ beside it, filled with textbooks as well as joke books. There’s no pile of dirty clothes, no trash tornado. Everything’s a lot… _cleaner_ , than he’s used to.

It’s as if, in this glitch, or timeline, or whatever this is supposed to be, Sans actually _cares_ about things.

There are two windows, both of which allow in plenty of natural sunlight. Wherever he is, he must be aboveground. There are ways of producing such light artificially, of course, such as in Asgore’s throne room down below, but Sans feels no magic in this room besides his own.

He sits up, and still there’s no RESET. He gets out of bed, and still there’s no RESET. He looks out the window, sees a building he doesn’t recognize and beautiful orange trees he also doesn’t recognize and _still there’s no RESET_.

But when he spins on his heel and runs for the door, something does finally happen (though it’s still not a RESET).

It’s like the sudden movement dizzies him, and he staggers, collapses to the carpeted floor. He holds his head against an onslaught of pain, and suddenly he knows _everything_ —or, at least, what this place _wants_ him to know—and he knows now that this really is something different, something new, because whatever it is has given him _a brand new backstory_.

A life for monsters on the surface, no such thing as the imprisonment in Mt. Ebott. An entire life spent free, with Gaster to raise them, and no one to forget him. Friends, both human and monster. A first love, college, research programs, an _actual_ _job_ —

And through it all, not a single RESET.

“Where the hell am I?” He has to ask it out loud for fear of losing his last shred of sanity. His HP is quivering, unsure of whether to explode with unbound purpose or to shrink to nothingness.

His phone rings, startling him further. He manages to restrain himself just enough not to summon a blaster to blow the poor thing off his night stand and into the next life. After taking a moment to calm down, he answers the call, holding the phone to his ear hole.

“Sans?”

It’s the voice of his father.

Sans almost drops the phone.

“Son?” Gaster asks, a hint of concern in his _distinctly unbroken_ voice. A voice Sans hasn’t heard in literal years, not since before the accident. “Are you alright?”

_Alive. Unbroken._ In this timeline, or glitch, or… _whatever this is_ , Gaster is alive. Sans has memories of him and he’s not so sure he’s the only one. Things are different, so vastly different, here, but Sans has to play along. He doesn’t yet know the consequences, and doesn’t want to take the chance of a forced RESET.

“Yeah, dad,” Sans chokes out. And then he _breathes_. Deeply, calmly, because it’s like talking after the game, in the world the player cannot see. Nothing is Scripted, or designed, or mandated. At least, not by the game. “Y-yeah, I’m alright. ‘Sup?”

“Oh, well, I was just calling to ask how your move went,” says Gaster. “I know the trip was a long one, so I figured you boys crashed as soon as you got the beds set up, but I just wanted to confirm that you made it safely.”

Move. Trip. Right, he and Pap… they’d just moved in from out of town. Their first day in this new house. Sans can even recall the trip up here, from another town several hours from here. And this place. This place is called…

“Everything’s great,” Sans says, one hand coming up to rub at his aching temple. God, this is _weird_. “We’re both fine.”

And he knows that, too, somehow. The memories this place is feeding him tell him so. Papyrus is in the room down the hall from his, sound asleep. Safe.

“Excellent,” Gaster says, sounding pleased. Kind. Just as Sans remembered him. “Truly excellent. Now, I don’t wish to keep you on the line for too long. Tell Papyrus to give me a call when he has the chance. I’m surprised he’s not yet awake. You’re both such natural early birds.”

“I am?” Sans asks. “I mean, we are?”

“Is everything alright, son?” asks his father. “You’re feeling… well?”

“Yeah, sure, of course. Look, dad, I’m gonna have to call you back, alright? There’s some… _stuff_ I need to figure out.”

“Very well,” says Gaster. “I’m glad you and Papyrus are safe. Don’t forget about me, alright?”

Sans feels the light leave his eyes.

“What?”

“You know,” says Gaster and Sans really, _really_ doesn’t. “Your first big move away from home? It’s common for young adults to become so absorbed in their new lives that they practically forget about their old ones. Their family. And I can’t say I don’t understand, but… please do try to call me every now and then, alright? Don’t forget.”

“I won’t, dad,” Sans promises. His soul churns with a deep, aching pain he’d managed to bury for years. “Never.”

“Ah, that’s good to hear, son,” Gaster says, sounding pleasantly confused at Sans’s very serious tone. “I suppose I should hang up, now.”

_No, don’t. Don’t go. Don’t leave me. Not again._

“Uh, yeah,” Sans says, trembling. “Sure. Bye, dad.”

“Goodbye, son.”

Gaster ends the call, and the world still does not RESET.


End file.
